Australian Bachelors: Masterful Magnates: Purchased: His Perfect Wife
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He stood close … too close … for she could sense the soap and shampoo he’d used, the expanse of toned muscle and sinew, and the damning knowledge she’d spent a few hours curled against his naked frame.
‘You’d have preferred me to employ a more intimate distraction?’
‘No. No,’ she reiterated, and caught the amusement apparent in those dark eyes, the slight curve of his mouth as he moved in close.
‘So this will have to suffice.’
He lowered his head and ‘this’ became a wickedly evocative kiss that took hold of her resistance and tossed it high.
It lasted long and lingered, and it was she who groaned with frustration as he lifted his head and left her aching and needy.
‘Any time you change your mind …’ His soft taunt brought her down to earth with a thud, and her eyes sparked dark-blue fire.
‘In your dreams!’
A husky chuckle almost undid her, and he pressed a finger against her lips.
Lara barely resisted the temptation to close her teeth and bite his finger hard. Except there was a silent warning apparent that such an action would invite retribution.
‘Go get dressed. Breakfast will be delivered any time soon.’
The day lay ahead, with barely enough hours in which to achieve everything Wolfe had on his agenda.
First up was the need to confer with the interior decorator at the Point Piper mansion as they fine-tuned colour schemes, light fittings and a complete refit of the kitchen to Lara’s specifications. Copious notes were made and double-checked, while the interior decorator’s warmth increased to an almost obsequious level.
From there Wolfe drove to Watson’s Bay where they had lunch at a charming restaurant overlooking the sea, after which they headed back to the city.
Shopping was next on the agenda, and despite Lara’s protest several packages and glossy carrier bags were added to a steadily increasing collection.
‘No,’ Wolfe declared as she prepared to change prior to leaving for Lara’s. ‘Tonight you’re set to experience dining in the restaurant, not working the kitchen.’
Lara paused in gathering her working clothes together and sent him a steady look. ‘Says who?’
‘I do,’ he drawled. ‘With Tony, Shontelle and Sally’s approval.’
‘But not mine,’ she managed reasonably, and drew forward her trainers.
‘You get to check the kitchen, then join me at six-thirty.’
She kept her voice even. ‘Our busiest time.’
‘You’re not indispensable. The staff will cope admirably.’
They would, but that wasn’t the point. ‘Doesn’t it matter I might want to work tonight?’
His eyes hardened measurably. ‘Accept it’s not going to happen.’
‘And you intend to prevent it … how?’ ‘In an undignified manner, if you choose to resist.’ A few conflicting scenarios presented themselves … none of which she could possibly countenance. ‘You’re unbelievable!’ ‘So, bite me.’
‘Maybe I will,’ Lara threatened. ‘When you least expect it.’
As an exit line, it gave some satisfaction … although it diminished somewhat in the wake of his soft laughter.
Half an hour later Lara stepped into the Lexus wearing an elegant trouser-suit, stiletto heels, make-up and with her hair caught in a smooth French roll held fast with a large clip.
In her hand she carried a bag holding trainers.
It was her kitchen, she assured herself silently. Her employees, her decision. Damn it, her final night as chef.
Tomorrow her life would change … but tonight was hers, and she resolved to play it her way.
‘Hi, I didn’t think you were supposed to be on kitchen duty tonight.’
Lara collected her apron, wound and fixed the ties at her waist, and offered Sally a sweet smile. ‘You thought wrong.’
‘Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?’
‘What makes you think that?’
Sally rolled her eyes. ‘You’ve got the look.’
‘And that’s a bad thing?’
‘If it involves Wolfe, you need to ask?’
Lara began her customary check, spoke to the staff and determined everything was as it should be as the first orders began to appear.
‘It’s almost six-thirty,’ Tony reminded her. ‘Time to go hang up your apron.’
‘Soon.’
However, ‘soon’ wasn’t soon enough.
Although, to give Wolfe credit, he allowed her ten minutes’ grace before he entered the kitchen, crossed to her side, placed a hand either side of her waist and lifted her over one shoulder.
‘Put me down!’ The words escaped in a scandalized hiss as he turned and began walking towards the swing door. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
She directed a well-aimed kick, which failed to connect, and she stifled an angry groan as Wolfe kept walking.
The indignity hit home seconds later when she heard the sound of hands clapping, and she mentally cursed him all the names she could think of … and then some.
Macho fiend. Retribution was a given, the moment she got him alone.
Which wouldn’t be any time soon. Perhaps that was just as well, for right now her temper was running at an all-time high.
He came to a halt, and his hands shifted as he released her down onto her feet where she stood for a few seconds, tension apparent in every muscle of her body.
For a moment the air between them was charged with electrifying tension, and her eyes glittered with veiled vengeance as they met the dark, gleaming depths above her own.
Shock tactics were called for, and without pausing to reflect on her actions she linked her hands at his nape, leant in close and took his mouth with her own, using the tip of her tongue to explore in a manner that was entirely sensual.
Then she pulled free, stepped to one side and executed a deep curtsy … to the delight of most everyone present.
Take that, she flung in silent satisfaction, unaware of the soft pink colouring her cheeks as she straightened her apron.
She felt as if she’d been tossed through a whirlwind, and she needed a few seconds to regain her equilibrium.
It was crazy … maddening.
‘Perhaps you should sit down,’ Wolfe suggested with a degree of indolent amusement, and she offered him a brilliant smile.
‘Thank you.’
Seated, Lara made a pretense of consulting a menu she knew by heart, ordered, and accepted a flute of champagne.
‘To us,’ Wolfe drawled, his eyes watchful as he touched the rim of his flute to her own.
On the surface, it was a beautiful celebratory evening. The food was superb, the ambience warm and friendly as regular patrons approached at intervals to offer their congratulations, and at closing time Lara instructed a few bottles of champagne be opened for the staff.
Anecdotes were aired and shared—the occasional disaster, and the hilarious moments …
‘Remember Francois?’ Sally reminded her. ‘The second chef Lara hired, who prepared food fit for the gods, vowed he was of French origin, yet when Lara engaged him in conversation all he could manage was basic schoolroom French with a contrived accent that bordered on the hysterical. And we discovered he was Frank from Liverpool!
‘And Duschenka, the Russian girl who answered to Du … with a tendency to throw the first thing that came to her hand whenever she lost her temper. Which was often.’
‘Then there was Paul, Lara’s inestimable business partner,’ Shontelle revealed with an expressive shudder. ‘He of the Porsche and designer suits. Great credentials and recommendations. Very skilled at cooking the books.’
‘Don’t forget Gregory, who dined here every Wednesday night at eight without fail,’ Sally reminisced. ‘Reserved the same table, ordered precisely the same entrée and main every time, and requested a cappuccino specifically containing frothed milk with coffee on the side, sans chocolate. Then suddenly he was gone, and we never did discover a reason for his absence.’
Walking away at the end of the evening was difficult. The staff, each and every one of them, had remained loyal during the tough times, especially Sally and Shontelle, who’d been with Lara since Lara’s was a new untried venture.
A soft rain-shower sprinkled the windscreen as Wolfe covered the relatively short distance to their hotel, and Lara leant back against the head-rest and closed her eyes until the Lexus slid to a halt in the hotel forecourt.
‘Don’t ever do that again.’ The words spilled out the instant Wolfe closed the door of their suite.
‘What, specifically, are you referring to?’
‘Oh, please. Let’s not play verbal games.’
He dispensed with his wallet and keys, then he shrugged out of his jacket, toed off his Italian loafers and began loosening the buttons on his shirt.
Lara turned away when he undid his belt and reached for the zip fastening.
‘You want to vent, go ahead.’
She resolutely refused to offer a word, and she heard the faint rustle of clothing, followed seconds later by the soft click of the door leading into the en suite, only to hear it reopen minutes later.
Then he was there, and his hands closed over her shoulders as he turned her round to face him.
Dark sapphire-blue eyes glittered with banked-down anger as she met his steady gaze, and her lips parted as she prepared to rail against him.
Except he didn’t give her the chance, as he captured her head between his hands and closed his mouth over her own in an erotic, evocative kiss that took all of her fine anger and tamed it.
Tamed her, she admitted, and left her hovering on the brink of wanting more. So much more.
For a moment she almost succumbed as his lips trailed to the sensitive hollow at the base of her throat, lingered there as he teased the throbbing pulse.
A tortured whisper emerged as she sought a vestige of control, caught in a swirling vortex where emotion ruled.
Just as she thought she could stand no more, he lifted his head and gently eased her to arm’s length.
‘Go to bed.’ He trailed the pads of his fingers down her cheek and pressed a forefinger to her lips. ‘To sleep, hmm?’
She closed her eyes, then opened them again.
He could switch off so easily?
Oh, get real. The only emotion involved here was her own. She represented a convenience. Her circumstances merely a puzzle-piece that fitted life’s pattern. His, but also hers.
So accept it and move forward.
Without a word she stepped past him, collected the oversize tee-shirt she wore as a sleep-shirt, and made for the en suite.
When she emerged the lamp adjacent to her bed provided the room’s only illumination, and she switched it off as she slid beneath the covers to lie staring into the darkness.
Tomorrow … today, she corrected on the edge of sleep … was her wedding day.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MARRIAGE, whenever Lara had given thought to the possibility of her own, would have involved the usual lead up to the event itself, with the choosing of a gown, the inevitable hen party, and Suzanne sharing in the celebrations.
Tradition, however, played no part in this day.
There was no breakfast served in bed. A caring message from an anxious groom-to-be didn’t happen, nor the appearance of a bridesmaid or three, make-up artist and hairdresser.
Instead, Lara rose early, bade Wolfe a perfunctory ‘Good morning,’ as he pulled on sweats, and offered, ‘Coffee?’
She needed to do something, anything, to keep her mind occupied.
‘Half a cup, black, no sugar.’
A few days of occupying a hotel suite should have accustomed her to Wolfe’s presence. Instead, it merely accelerated her nervous tension, and she felt the familiar curling sensation in the pit of her stomach as he crossed to her side.
Would it be easier tomorrow, the day after, when she’d shared her body with his?
Sure, and piglets should sprout wings and fly!
A hollow laugh choked in her throat, and she swallowed compulsively.
He stood close … too close … and there was nothing she could do to prevent the fine body hairs rising up in sensual recognition.
Oh, for heaven’s sake … get a grip.
Wolfe drained his coffee and replaced the cup onto the servery. ‘I’ll head down to the gym.’
‘OK.’
Her eyes flew wide as he caught hold of her chin and tilted it so she had no option but to meet his gaze. ‘Don’t think of bailing out.’
His voice held a tinge of silk, and for a fleeting second he caught a glimpse of shock … and something else.
‘Why would I do that?’ she managed reasonably.
Why, indeed? Yet there was something evident beneath the surface he couldn’t quite tap into, he reflected thoughtfully as he rode the lift down to the gym.
She kissed like an angel, and he’d be fooling himself if he said he didn’t want more. To taste and savour, gift her pleasure … and take his own.
During his absence Lara showered and washed her hair, shared a leisurely breakfast with Wolfe on his return, then she began preparing for the marriage ceremony.
Make-up was minimal, with a soft pink blush adding colour to her cheeks, gloss accenting her lips, and she highlighted her eyes with a light stroke of blue to match them.
Simplicity was her chosen style, and she swept the length of her hair into a smooth twist at her nape and fixed it with a pearl-studded hinged clip.
The ivory dress with its fitted lace overlay was perfect for the marriage ceremony. Scalloped lace edged the wide scooped-neckline, the short sleeves and hemline providing a delicate fragility to her slender, petite frame. Stilettos added height, and she fixed a slender gold chain at her neck, gifted to her by Suzanne.
The final touch was a delicate spray of seed pearls fixed in her hair … and she was done.
‘Ready?’
She turned to see Wolfe leaning one shoulder against the en suite aperture, looking incredible, she had to admit, in a superbly tailored black suit, white shirt and grey silk tie.
‘Yes.’ She sounded calm, when inside she was a mass of nerves.
There wasn’t much she could discern from his expression, and she collected a small spray of white orchids and followed him from the suite.
The brief ceremony was due to be conducted in the hotel’s private lounge in the presence of Darius’ lawyer, Sally and Shontelle.
Last-minute nerves were acceptable in a bride, Lara conceded as she stood at Wolfe’s side while they waited for a lift to ascend to their floor.
She was fully aware of the reasons why she’d committed herself to this marriage. So why now did she suddenly yearn for it to be a love match instead of a convenient merger?
How many times over the past few days had she questioned if she was doing the right thing?
Too many, she admitted, aware she’d swung like a pendulum between hesitancy and reassurance.
The lift arrived, the electronic doors slid open and she preceded Wolfe inside the empty carriage to stand in silence as they were swiftly transported down to the second level.
She didn’t need prompting to smile when Wolfe took hold of her hand as they reached the private lounge.
It was show time, and she intended to give the performance of her life.
The celebrant, lawyer, Sally and Shontelle were already gathered in the elegantly furnished room. Greetings were exchanged, together with formal introductions, then without further delay the celebrant suggested the bride and groom stand together adjacent to a white-linen covered table containing a votive candle, and a crystal vase containing a delicate spray of orchids.
Wolfe threaded his fingers through her own as Lara focused on the celebrant and the deep sincerity evident in the spoken words, the deep timbre of Wolfe’s voice as he made his vows … and the quiet, faintly trembling sound of her own.
Her hand shook as Wolfe slid the wide diamond-studded band onto her finger, and she almost dropped the gold band as she prepared to slide it in place on his left hand.
‘I now pronounce you husband and wife.’
Lara experienced a sense of unreality as the celebrant proclaimed the words, and she barely hid her surprise as Wolfe lifted her left hand to his lips, then followed the gesture by lightly brushing his mouth to her own.
His eyes, so dark and slumbrous, rendered her boneless as she signed the marriage certificate, and it took all her effort to remain standing, to smile, even laugh on occasion, as congratulations were offered by Darius’ lawyer, Sally and Shontelle.
Champagne was produced, and afterwards Lara barely held back the tears as she hugged Sally, then Shontelle, when it came time to say goodbye.
‘Look after her,’ both girls bade Wolfe fiercely as they paused at the hotel entrance.
‘You have my word.’
It didn’t take long to return to their suite and change, and Lara chose dress jeans, a knit top and jacket, then slid her feet into flat shoes … aware Wolfe had exchanged a suit for tailored trousers, a collarless shirt and soft leather jacket.
Downstairs a limousine stood waiting with their bags stowed in the boot, and the chauffeur opened the rear door as Wolfe and Lara approached.
Mascot airport lay south of the city, and as soon as the obligatory customs inspection was completed they boarded a private jet stationed at the edge of the tarmac.
Luxury fittings, Lara noticed, with the interior resembling a private lounge, with wide deep-cushioned leather recliner chairs, a work station and a personal attendant whose greeting held familiar warmth.
Did her duties include joining the mile-high club with the boss?
‘No,’ Wolfe drawled close to her ear as he ushered her into a seat. ‘Although I’m not averse to testing the theory with my wife.’
Colour drained from her cheeks, to be rapidly replaced by twin tinges of pink. ‘I don’t think so.’
Musing humour gleamed in those dark eyes, and his mouth curved into a teasing smile. ‘It’s a long flight.’ He brushed his lips to her temple. ‘Buckle up. We’re about to move out towards the runway.’
Show time?
If Wolfe was intent on playing a part, then so would she, and she offered him a stunning smile. ‘Perhaps you should do the same … darling.’
A tad overkilled, but what did she have to lose?
No sooner had the Gulfstream jet reached the desired altitude, than Wolfe extracted his laptop and became immersed in work.
Given differing time zones, the wheels of world business never ceased, and Lara extracted a thick trade paperback Sally had gifted her, read the prologue and settled into chapter one.
The flight attendant served lunch, a delicious caesar salad followed by fresh fruit, and Lara declined coffee in favour of chilled water.
At some stage they’d need to touch down and refuel; Hawaii or LAX seemed a logical choice. Would they disembark for a stopover, or simply continue on to New York?
Lara attempted to focus on the book, the story, the characters, without much success. She felt strangely restless, with the need to stretch her legs. It was difficult to remember when she’d had so much time on her hands, unconstructive time, where she wasn’t juggling several things at once with not a minute to spare.
Work and sleep had been so much the pattern of her life for endless months, it was difficult to sit and watch the world go by. Correction—the sky, and the sparse blanket of cloud beneath the jet.
The leather recliner chair was comfortable, too comfortable, and she closed the book, then leant back against the headrest.
She must have slept, for she came awake at the light touch of a hand on her shoulder, and for a moment she felt disoriented by her surroundings.
‘The attendant is about to serve dinner,’ Wolfe relayed quietly. ‘Would you like something to drink first?’
‘Chilled water,’ Lara managed as she straightened in the chair.
‘We’re due to land on Oahu in an hour for an overnight stopover before flying on to New York tomorrow.’
The main Hawaiian island. A relaxed, laid-back lifestyle, Waikiki’s sandy beach, pina coladas at sunset and the buzz of tourists, she mused when they disembarked, cleared customs, then rode a cab to downtown Waikiki.
A modern luxury hotel fronting the beach, and a magnificent suite on a high floor overlooking the wide, sweeping bay with a view towards Diamond Head.
Sparkling lights against a velvet indigo sky.
Heaven, Lara perceived, as she removed the jacket she’d worn onboard … aware Wolfe had dispensed with his own.
Had he slept during the flight? Perhaps not. He bore the invincible air of a man well used to spending long hours in the air on a regular basis.
The trick to minimizing the effects of jet lag meant adopting the current time-zone, and given it was close to midnight slipping into bed seemed a sensible option.
‘You want to take the shower first, or share mine?’
Get naked with him? He had to be kidding!
Oh, get real. Tonight they’d share more than the bed. Why not view a shared shower as a tantalizing preliminary?
A fleeting thought, and one she didn’t quite have the courage to implement.
Lara extracted nightwear and toiletries from her bag and crossed to the en suite. ‘I won’t be long.’
She took a few seconds to admire the splendid marble tiles lining the floor and walls, the luxurious accoutrements, then she turned on the water, set the temperature dial and quickly stripped off her clothes.
Bliss, she acknowledged as she picked up the scented soap and began smoothing it over her body. The water felt good and she lifted her face, letting the warmth flow onto it.
She didn’t hear the faint sound of the bathroom door closing, only the slight snick as the partitioned glass opened, and she gasped out loud as Wolfe stepped into the large cubicle.
An arm automatically crossed over her breasts while the other defended the curling hair at the apex of her thighs.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she managed as he took the soap from her hand and pulled her away from the direct water spray.
‘Bathing you.’
He sounded amused, and her eyes widened as he stepped behind her and began smoothing the scented bar down the length of her spine, sensitizing her skin.
Her body swayed slightly in reaction to his touch, and she had no control over the sudden clenching sensation deep inside.
Oh … The slight groan died in her throat.
She wasn’t ready for this. Not here, in the shower …
Does it matter where? a tiny voice silently taunted.
Gently, with evocative slowness, he covered every inch of her back, the curve of her bottom, then he moved his hands up and began shaping her shoulders.
Lara felt the touch of his mouth against her nape before it trailed to the sensitive hollow at the edge of her neck, lingered there, then nibbled a little using the edge of his teeth before soothing the faintly abraded skin with an open-mouthed kiss.
It would be so easy to lean back against him, to silently indicate her compliance to everything he asked of her. Yet she couldn’t quite bring herself to take that step.
What was wrong with her?
All she had to do was summon the courage and act a part.
Not even act, the tiny voice taunted remorsefully.
This was Wolfe … the one man who possessed the power to render her mindless.
Even now her heart hammered to a quickened beat as sensation swept through her body, and she became consumed by a deep, throbbing ache so intense it felt as if she was on fire.
With infinite care he turned her round to face him and he took hold of her chin, tilting it so she had little choice but to look at him.
His tall, broad frame seemed large in the confines of the glass cubicle, and her eyes became huge dark pools as he lowered his head and captured her mouth with his own. She expected a deliberate assault on her senses, but he kept it light, cupping her head between both hands as he gently explored the soft, moist inner tissues and savoured the contours of her tongue with the edge of his own.